Courage vs Cowardice
by TheGoldenSeraphim
Summary: Explore the events leading up to Halloween 1981 through two very different sets of eyes. The courage of Lily Evans Potter shines against the cowardice of Peter Pettigrew. And there is nothing left to lose.
1. Courage

**Courage**

She didn't know what she was doing. 

Behind her, she heard a joyous laugh, and the tears continued to flow from her eyes.

She raced up the last three steps and rounded the corner, and immediately, the flow of tears stemmed.

She had no time to cry anymore.

Her lungs ached and her chest was on fire… Sweat beaded on her brow and slid down her forehead into her eyes. For ages, for years, she had dreaded this moment… And now it was here, and she was terrified to face it.

Carefully, quietly, she pushed open a small door, her knuckles brushing across the plaque on the door's center: _Harry_.

And she saw her son, her beautiful baby boy, sitting up in bed, his eyes wide with fear.

"What am I doing?" she whispered to herself. "How can I do this to him?"

"A good question," a small, quavering voice put in quietly.

Lily spun around in fear, her hands gripping the sides of her baby's bed, knuckles white. Her almond-shaped emerald eyes were wide as she stared at the shadowy figure moving out of the corner.

"You know what you have to do," Peter said softly. "Why don't you do it? Always a brave Lioness… But a hesitant one, all the same. Can you stand for those you love when it matters most? Can you do what you know is right?"

He smiled, his eyes cold and hard. "I don't think you can, Lily my dear."

"What do you know?" Lily snarled. "Wretched rat! You know nothing of strength, of loyalty! All you know is personal gain!"

"Right you are!" Peter said jovially, chuckling. "But I don't need strength and loyalty– at least, not the way you see it– where I am. What could be better than that?"

"Love," Lily replied angrily. "Hope. Courage. Honor. A family. My God, Peter, you gave up so _much_!"

"I did," he agreed calmly. "And my choice, that. So why don't you just hand over the child, and we'll be done."

"No," Lily said, her voice shaking. "Never."

And, without once taking her eyes off of Peter, she gathered her baby up in her arms, holding him close to her chest. The little baby cooed and gurgled at his uncle Peter, his jade eyes sparkling, and stared around in interest.

"Come now, Lily," Peter said in a near whisper, his eyes still blank. "What do you think you can do? Fight Lord Voldemort? He's stolen your health, your strength, and you know it. All you have left is your spirit, your fire, and that's not enough."

"It has to be," Lily argued stubbornly. "It's all I need."

Peter sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. "Well, you can't say I didn't try," he muttered. Raising his wand, he murmured an incantation which Lily did not recognize. Fearful for her son, she ducked, holding him tighter still.

"_Placidus_ _tempi_!"

She froze, immediately, and Peter stepped forward to admire his handiwork. From downstairs, he heard a crash and another cackle; Peter was not a very skilled wizard and with the level of power needed for the spell, it had no effect on anyone outside of the room in which he stood.

Lily was perfectly still, as rigid as could be, with her eyes still wide and her hair flying back behind her head. Her long, blood-red robes were hanging down around her ankles, and, from the looks of them, they had been swirling majestically around her feet when she had frozen where she stood.

'How fitting,' Peter thought with a small laugh.

His eyes traveled downward a bit, to the small bundle she had tucked into her right arm. And there was little Harry, tufts of his jet-black hair sticking up at the back, his green eyes staring in concern at his mother. Startled, he reached out a pudgy little had and pushed at her shoulder, trying to shake her awake.

Peter moved forward, kneeling before the child with a smile. "It won't work," he told the boy, and Harry's tiny little face turned to watch him. "How interesting, though," he murmured, "that this spell should have no effect on you. It's fitting, really."

Harry only blinked, turning back to push his mother again. "Up!" he demanded quietly, his voice a shrill whisper.

"They're brave, Harry, the both of them," Peter told him, his brow furrowed. "They have no idea what you're in for, no clue what they're doing. And they'll have to handle the consequences of tonight forever, always knowing that they sold their son to save the world. That they cemented your destiny. Some day, you'll need to forgive them. It's the only way you'll ever win. Your father's putting up one helluva fight, kid, and your mother's about to, but in the end, Harry, it's all down to you. And you remember, kid, when we meet again, ol' Wormtail's part in this show ain't over yet."

Raising his wand again, he pointed it at the bemused toddler, and slowly, he drew a small, glittering golden rune on the boy's forehead. With another muttered spell, runes appeared in the air all around them; the groundwork he had known Lily would have lain.

He'd known she would find that book back in seventh year, after all.

Pulling a knife from his pocket with a steady hand, Peter slit his own hand, blood welling up in a thin line immediately. Whispering incantations under his breath, he pressed his bleeding hand to Harry's forehead, placing his other hand at the back of Harry's head to hold him steady when he jerked back.

A beam of dimmed light formed between them, flowing in Harry's direction, and the boy stared, entranced, as it diffused into his head. Around them, whispers sounded, as if the ghosts of the gods of old were watching…. Waiting for an outcome, waiting for the end.

From downstairs came a scream of rage, and Peter pulled back, staring into Harry's eyes… treasuring his last moments of lucidity.

"Remember, Harry," he whispered. "Remember, when it's all crashing down, what I made myself into, for you… for the world." Tears began to fill Harry's eyes; confusion, fear, and panic, and he reached forward with his tiny little hands, straining to get to his uncle.

A moment later, he found himself reaching for an empty space.

Lily shook her head, sitting up, as she came to. Her eyes immediately darted around the room for Peter, but there was no sign of him.

_The rat_, she thought angrily, and a tiny spark of fear shot through her, at the mystery, the chance of what he might have done.

Slowly, she got to her feet, lifting Harry gently. With the appraising stare that only a mother knew, she checked him over, finding no injury on his body. Her eyes filled with tears of relief, and she clung to him, holding him as tightly as she could, ignoring his protest of "yuck".

For a time, she simply stood there with Harry in her arms, trying as best she could to drown out the sounds of battle beneath her feet. She cringed in pain and torment as she heard her husband shout, and Harry whimpered, burying his head in her shoulder. Bracing herself now, she rubbed his back gently, whispering soothing, nonsense words in his ear. As he huddled closer to her, she stared straight ahead, her gaze traveling beyond her son's shoulder….

There was a knife on the floor.

Her brow furrowing, Lily stepped forward, her boots thudding softly on the floor. Hesitantly, she reached for the knife, picking up the cool bronze object between two fingers–

–and gasped when it slithered up her arm, stopping point-first at her wrist.

She stared down at the enchanted knife, terrified, and bit back a scream when it drove itself into her arm.

The blood dripped down her arm, sliding across her hand and falling to the floor. Whimpering yet again, Harry tried to push himself further into his mother's shoulder, even as she screwed up her eyes against the pain. The knife continued to drive itself into her arm, stopping only when it reached the bone, its tip sliding back and forth through her flesh.

Through it all, Lily stood unmoving, her right arm still banded tightly around her son.

The motion of the knife stopped abruptly, and, of its own volition, it slid out of her arm and fell to the ground with a dull _thud_. Harry jumped, startled, and pulled back to stare at his mother, his eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears.

"Mumma?" he whispered.

Lily smiled at him through tears of pain, and carefully, she lifted her left hand, heedless of the blood coating it. Slowly, gently, she brushed a tuft of Harry's hair back from his eyes, leaving a trail of blood across his forehead. "It's all right, Harry," she whispered softly, smiling. "Mumma's got you."

The little boy simply stared at her, his face pale, and bit his lip worriedly. "Da," he said quietly, his voice breaking.

"Da's fine, too," Lily whispered.

"No," Harry muttered angrily, kicking his little legs. Suddenly, he was furious at his mother, he wanted to get away from her… He had to see his father, why wasn't she letting him go?

"Da!" he screamed, his little lungs heaving, and his voice echoed through the house.

"Harry, no!" Lily shushed him desperately, her own face going white with fear.

Harry bit down harder on his lip, and suddenly it split, blood dribbling down his chin. Lily stared at him, shocked, as he shook his head. "Da," he said again.

"Da's busy, Harry," Lily whispered urgently, but too late; Harry had screwed up his face again and seconds later, he screamed, "Da!"

There was a bang and a shout from the floor far beneath their feet. Overhead, dust rained down from the ceiling, and it crashed down upon them, clouding Lily's vision and making Harry cough.

And the voice, the terrible voice that had haunted Lily's dreams for years, and would haunt Harry's for far longer, echoed through the house.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Harry screamed again, his chin now covered with sticky, bright red blood. His mother stood silently, unmoving, shock in her eyes.

'He did it,' she thought. 'He really did it.'

Immediately, she felt a rush of pride for her husband, then rage, followed on its heels by pure terror. Hands shaking, she set Harry down on the floor in front of her and bent down, gently kissing his forehead.

This time, Harry made no protest.

She turned, her eyes trained on the door, her wand clenched in her bloody hand, eyes narrowed. Behind her, Harry whimpered, tears sliding down his face and blood still flowing from his lip.

"Mumma?" Harry whispered, crawling forward on hands and knees.

"Stay there, Harry," Lily said softly.

Immediately, Harry rocked back upon his knees, staring at his mother. "Mumma? Da?" he whispered.

Lily flinched, her heart breaking in the face of her son's distress. Dropping her guard, she turned to her son and knelt before him, one knee on the ground. "I love you, Harry," she said quietly, looking into his eyes, so like hers. "And your da loves you. We will always be with you, Harry. Always."

"Love Mumma," Harry whispered. "Love Da."

"How utterly touching."

Lily shot to her feet, spinning around, as Harry glared past her legs. Angrily, his eyes shining with tears of rage, Harry declared in a loud, defiant whisper, "Vo'mort!"

The demon-like creature in the doorway stared at the boy, taken aback. After a moment, Harry giggled quietly at the man's fury and astonishment.

"You taught him my name?" Voldemort demanded angrily.

"Yes," Lily said, and against her will, she felt a proud smile spreading across her face. "We did."

Voldemort's gaze moved, the shock fading from his eyes, to be replaced with pure, undiluted savagery. "You dare?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," Lily said calmly, praying that he wouldn't hear the slight tremble in her voice. "We do."

A suffocating silence filled the room, interrupted by only Harry's daring mumbled chant of 'Vo'mort'. Shaking inside, Lily stood motionless, her eyes riveted upon the face of Lord Voldemort.

To her shock and ever-growing fear, the wizard fashioned '_the_ Dark Lord' threw back his head and laughed.

"_You_ dare, silly girl, but your dear husband no longer does!" Smiling in malevolent triumph, Voldemort gestured to the stairs beyond the door. "Your husband, you see, lies dead on the floor beneath your feet, fallen, just like all the rest… Just like all who dare defy me."

"Not all," Lily argued recklessly. "One _won't_ fall, and it will only take one." Her breath was coming rapidly now, sweat beading visibly upon her forehead once more, and her throat burned. "Only one," she murmured once more, desperation and hope alight in her eyes.

"And I suppose, you foolish girl, you think you will be the one to kill me?" Voldemort hissed.

"No," Lily whispered. "I won't be the one who _defeats_ you, Voldemort. But I wish I could see it happen."

"Rest assured," Voldemort replied, his glee returning, "that you will not. Now, before I kill you, I suppose you'll wish for a final word, or something equally and stupidly Muggle?"

Her eyes darted down, and Harry met them, mumbling "Vo'mort" as he looked up at his mother. Emerald eyes met emerald eyes, and in that moment, Lily Potter neé Evans said goodbye.

"Me for Harry," she said shortly, her eyes going back to Voldemort.

And for the first time anyone had ever seen, Lord Voldemort was truly dumbfounded.

"What?" he snarled, his blood-red eyes flashing.

"Me for Harry," Lily repeated, and slowly, the pain began to fade from her mind. "Leave Harry. Kill me instead."

Still, Voldemort stared at her, and silently, she prayed for time. "My dear girl," he said with a puzzled but cruel smile, "surely you do not think to dissuade me?"

"You won't kill Harry," she protested stubbornly, and slowly, she took one step back, until she stood right in front of her son. "I won't let you."

Amazed, she wondered why she wasn't dead yet, but when a slow, amused smile spread across Voldemort's face, she figured he found the entire situation uproariously funny.

"You won't let me?" the dark wizard repeated, laughter in his voice. "My dear child, you have no means of _stopping _me. When I take you up on your generous offer and rid the world of you, you will have no means of protecting your son. No means of saving him. You _cannot win_!"

"I can," Lily muttered defiantly, and slowly, she let desperation creep into her voice. Her rage, her steady voice, her very strength; all were fueled by the knowledge of her husband's dead body in their sitting room, by Harry's increasingly loud chants, by her love for both of them. "I can stop you. I will. If you kill me, you will not kill Harry."

"Very well!" Voldemort replied, laughter booming. "I will take that offer!"

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Lily could see a fork of lighting reflected in Voldemort's pitiless eyes. The ground beneath them shook slightly, and Lily had to force back her own triumphant smile; she had won.

But, she conceded to herself, the game was not yet over. She had to finish her play.

"You won't kill him?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowed, and inside, her stomach wretched at the very idea of being so easily taken in.

"Of course not," Voldemort replied smoothly, his eyes glittering madly with delight. "I would never go back on my word."

Lily stared at him, her eyes wide, face pale, and willed color into her cheeks. Immediately she flushed, and quietly, nervously, she whispered, "I don't believe you."

"No?" the dark wizard questioned softly, and again, anger flared in his eyes.

"No," Lily whispered. "I don't. You'll just kill him as soon as you kill me!"

"I would never," the Dark Lord protested, his amusement sparking to life again.

"You would!" Lily screamed. "You're a coward, a cheat, a useless, witless worm! Your word and your power mean nothing!"

A deafening silence followed. "Mumma?" Harry whispered, tears sliding down his little face yet again.

"Silence, boy!" Voldemort hissed, not once glancing his way and, with a vicious smile, he began to raise his wand.

Sullenly, Harry folded his trembling little arms and glared at the man. "No, Vo'mort."

The other man blinked in surprise, wand frozen in mid-air. "What was that?" he demanded sharply.

Though Voldemort could not see him, Harry looked straight at him, biting his lip slightly. "Not my da," he muttered audibly. " No quiet. No Mumma. No, Vo'mort."

The wizard merely stared at him, his eyes blank, and turned back to face Lily Potter, raising his wand once more. "You bore me," he said carelessly.

"No!" Lily screamed, tears sliding down her face. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please– I'll do anything–"

"Stand aside! Stand aside, girl!" Voldemort roared angrily.

"Not Harry!" she shouted.

"Yes Harry, you foolish girl!" Voldemort shouted back. "For all your fighting, for all your brave stands, your love and your foolish sacrifices, this is your reward; the _death_ of all you love! Stand aside, or you shall join them!"

Calmly, quietly, Lily stared into the face of Death, feeling the Reaper's hand creeping through the air. 'It's odd,' she mused, 'how clear things become in those final moments.'

'Sirius, where are you?' she thought desperately, tears still sliding down her face. 'James, I love you. Harry, I'm so sorry… I love you always… Remus, how could I have doubted you? I'm sorry… so sorry… Damn you, Peter… Damn you…'

And then, she lifted her head, one thought running through her mind…

'Of everything I've said and done, let this be the one that counts.'

"If you kill me, you will not kill Harry."

"Enough," Voldemort said tiredly. "You bore me. _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry screamed, crawling away quickly as his mother fell to the ground. With a howl of pain, he wrapped his tiny hand around his mother's cold fingers and squeezed them gently. "Mumma?" he whispered. "Mumma?"

In spite of himself, Voldemort observed the boy's grief, a spark of interest in his eyes. 'So this is the boy who would be the end of me,' he ruminated with a smile. 'An orphaned toddler.'

"Mumma?" Harry whispered, louder this time, and with one hand, he pushed at her shoulder, shaking her.

"She won't wake," Voldemort said softly.

Harry looked up, his eyes a deep, dark pit of emerald flames. "Vo'mort," he said angrily, his little voice amazingly steady.

"That's right," Voldemort replied, amused once again. "I'm Voldemort. I'm death, boy, and I've come to claim you. Would you like it to be quick?"

Harry glared at him, and his eyes darted down to his mother, alight with rage. "Fight," he said stubbornly.

"Fight?" Voldemort repeated, incredulous. "For your mother?"

"Fight," Harry repeated.

The laugh of Lord Voldemort echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls; a chilling sound that made grown men weep with fear, but Harry didn't flinch.

"My dear child," Voldemort said between gales of laughter. "No force or power can do that. Your mother is gone."

"Not p'werful, then," Harry said angrily.

Voldemort only chuckled. "You shall see, my boy. Now, do you want a quick end? I will abide cowardice, if you wish... You are an infant, after all…"

"Not quick," Harry said defiantly, his hand still curled around his mother's. "Not cow-ward."

The Dark Lord chuckled yet again and tightened his grip on his wand. "To bravery, child," he said with a broad smile. "May it perish with you."

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

There was the sound of something moving quickly through the air, a rush of green light, and suddenly, another clap of thunder sounded. Taking a deep breath, little Harry tightened his grip on his mother's hand, still willing her to sit up, to take him away…

The beam of green light was a foot away… half a foot away….. Harry screwed up his eyes…

Through the window came a bolt of lightning, flying across the room ad over Harry's head. It met the beam and absorbed it, turning a pale green itself before disappearing. The air it left behind was charged and sizzling, as if it had been brought to life, and it was angry.

"What is this?" Voldemort snarled. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

This time, the beam stopped in mid-air, met by a large, transparent shield. It diffused into the air, spreading across the space in front of Harry until it was a soft pleasant turquoise in color, before disappearing entirely.

The dark wizard stared in awe, even as Harry giggled delightedly, at the sight before his eyes. "Impossible," he muttered. Numbly, he stared at the scene before him. He had failed.

Then his pride arose and the snarl returned to his face. He gripped his wand fiercely, raising it once more.

"Third time's a charm," he murmured. "Muggle quote. How apt."

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

His rage exploded from him at a level he had ever before seen and raced across the room, the beam of deadly green light at least four times thicker than usual. It moved faster than usual, quickly passing the point at which had been stopped on his previous attempts, and, to his intense joy, it connected.

The beam hit Harry right on the forehead, and it spread in a thin, narrow line down his forehead. Voldemort stared, confused; he had never before seen the killing curse do that. His eyes widened as the boy began to radiate green light and flickered to his forehead, where a jagged lightning bolt, made entirely of blood and ripped skin, had formed.

'No,' he thought dully.

The light coming from the boy grew, becoming darker, new colors joining it; red, blue, orange, silver… The jumble of colors swirled, and slowly, it turned to a pure and brilliant white.

"No," he said aloud this time, and Harry merely sat, staring at the swirling ball of energy around him. It grew to an enormous size, until it enclosed his mother, and there it stopped, and simply remained, rotating and spinning in midair.

Then it moved again, a slight twitch forward, and Voldemort grabbed at his wand, shouting the strongest shield charm he knew…. But his wand did nothing; no light, no heat came from it.

Terrified, desperate, the Dark Lord stepped back, eyes fixed on the ball of rotating energy.

Before he could move an inch, it shot forward, straight for him, and knocked him through the wall.

He fell, his body crashing down past the stairs and through a wall as the ball of energy drove him into the ground. He screamed, his every nerve enduing on fire, and the ball infused itself into him, disappearing from the space before his eyes. Inside, he felt the burning spread; it was as if someone had set him on fire from the inside out.

His body jerked once, twice, and then it was still.

Pushing himself to his feet, shaking, Harry tottered a few steps forward and walked unsteadily from his room, staring down over the railing to the first floor. And there lay the body of Lord Voldemort, on the floor by the stairs.

"No Vo'mort," he whispered, satisfied. And then he turned and went back to his mother.

"Mumma?" he whispered, his hand touching hers again.

But his mother didn't move.

And he knew Voldemort had not lied. His mother was not coming back.

"Mumma," he whispered, and tears burst from his eyes, sliding down his face, mixing with the blood still dripping from his chin. Sobs wracking his small body, he threw himself forward onto his mother's body, burying his face in her shoulder once more.

For a time, the only sound in the house was his grief. After a while of crying into his dead mother's shoulder, little one-year-old Harry pushed himself up and stood shakily, walking with small steps to the door.

"Da," he whispered. "Da?"

And then the rest of his world fell apart.

There was a low rumbling sound, and Harry glanced up, his eyes landing on his mother once more. He stared at her, his eyes awash with tears, and didn't even try to run.

The floor crumbled beneath his feet.

He fell through space, buffeted by air, pushed further and further down, as his home collapsed around him. Dimly, he saw things from his past falling beside him; the plush griffin toy Uncle Sirius had given him for his first birthday, a large splinter from the rocking chair Uncle Remus had carved him, a small, glittering whistle from Uncle Peter.

He crashed, landing on something sharp, and pain spread from a point on his back. Lying among the rubble, Harry didn't move; he simply stayed where he was, next to a mound of wood, dust rising up and coating his lungs once more. There was a thud and the sound of a trickle of pebbles and debris as something large landed nearby, and seconds later, a sheet of plaster fell by Harry's side.

Not calling out, he waited in the silence, until everything had stopped shifting. The air around him was chilled and unforgiving, biting into his skin with a vengeance.

And then came the silence.

"Mumma!" he called, and from far away, a howl sounded, carried on the wind.

"Mumma!" he called again.

"Da! Da! Da?"

Tears sliding down his face, Harry shifted slightly settling down in his cage, as the rubble moved again overhead. There was the sound of another landslide, and then it all moved over his head, blocking out the cruel night sky.

"Mumma," he whispered. "Da. Uncle Sir'us. Uncle Remy. Uncle Pe'er."

**Courage&Cowardice**

It was noon on Privet Drive, and Harry sat sullenly, staring at his jar of apricot baby food.

He didn't know what he was doing here, or who the mean people were, but he knew he didn't like them.

"No," he muttered. "No mea'. No Vo'mort."

"Stop babbling, boy!" the mean, fat man barked from the opposite side of the table.

Startled, Harry looked up and stared at him, his eyes filling with tears. "No say Vo'mort?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"That's right, boy," Vernon Dursley ordered. " 'No say Vo'mort'. Hear that, Petunia? They actually taught the boy to listen."

"But…" Harry mumbled. "Wha'not say Vo'mort? Mumma said–"

"I said don't say it!" Vernon Dursley screamed. "And that's _final_!"

Twenty minutes later, little Harry Potter still sat in his high chair, unmoving, with tears running down his face, the apricot baby food defiantly untouched.

"Mumma."


	2. Cowardice

**Cowardice**

He would not choose a side. 

That was his decision, he told himself. Sides, after all, were dangerous. People who chose sides were killed. People who stood up to Voldemort went the way of Edgar Bones.

People who stood up to Dumbledore ended up in Azkaban.

It would all boil down, he knew, to what he feared the most. It would all boil down to which he was more willing to suffer; a quick, painless death... or a lifetime of imprisonment and despair.

Something which would end... or something which would last for decades.

Damning himself... or guaranteeing a nice seat in Hell.

He would not choose either. He would not suffer either. Who were Dumbledore and Voldemort, the two rising factions, to demand his allegiance? Who were Bagnold and Crouch to tell him what he should do?

Who were they to decide what strength was? What courage was?

He had strength enough to do what all others would shrink from. He had courage enough to risk the wrath of both sides...

... for the guarantee of safety on either one or the other.

Harry would not be a problem. Voldemort would kill the boy, after all. Everybody who would simply be honest with himself knew that.

But if he gave the boy a fighting chance, if he gave him _some_ advantage – Voldemort would win anyway; who could realistically hope to match the might of Voldemort against an infant – Dumbledore would be forgiving. He knew Dumbledore, with his love for second chances. Dumbledore was _always_ giving people second chances.

He would give Harry a weapon, an advantage. He would protect Dumbledore's spy. And then, if things went south, he would have bargaining chips with the old man.

But if Voldemort caught him, a bargaining chip would be useless. No, Voldemort he would have to serve, and faithfully.

Peter Pettigrew knew exactly where his loyalty lay,

With himself.

James, Lily, Sirius, Remus... they could take care of themselves. They'd be all right.

And if not...

Well, Peter told himself, sometimes there's just nothing that can be done.

He apparated away.

**Courage&Cowardice **

He met Malfoy in the Hog's Head, as the letter he'd received the day before had said. To his relief, Dumbledore's fool of a brother was not behind the counter – a young, pretty little thing in whom he was _most_ interested stood behind it instead – but he did not drop his glamour spells. If nothing else, they could be useful much later in the evening, were he to seek... _entertainment. _

Lucius Malfoy was sitting at the corner table in the back, his eyes following the slim young bartender with a feral gleam. Chuckling quietly, Peter made his way to the older man's side, his smile disappearing immediately when Malfoy swung cold, disdainful eyes his way.

It was quite clear, Pettigrew realized suddenly, that since they were not equals, he was by no means entitled to find amusement in anything Lucius Malfoy did.

He sat down warily across from the other man, eyes scanning the bar worriedly.

He'd never realized that this meeting could be a trap. After all, the capture of James Potter's friend was a very important one...

His thoughts must have showed on his face, for Lucius drawled with a broad smile, "We don't _need_ to ambush you, _Wormtail_. The Dark Lord already owns you."

He stayed for less than five minutes. Calmly, Malfoy told him to report to his manor in Wiltshire the next night at eleven o'clock. He reminded him to bow in the presence of the Dark Lord and speak only when spoken to. That said, he cautioned Pettigrew to not change his behavior, saying that if he acted too brave or intelligent, though surely, that would be very difficult for Peter to achieve, his... friends would suspect him.

"You must act foolish and cowardly," Malfoy said quietly. "Your every action must be testament to the cowardice you have been enslaved by since your baneful birth. That is not, I trust, outside the scope of your abilities."

Sneering at the rat, Malfoy swooped off, coming to a stop before the young bartender. He took her arm and bent to whisper in her ear, smiling delightedly when the girl blushed and giggled. A moment later, the girl was tossing her apron on the counter and gleefully abandoning her customers – though, admittedly, there were only two others – and allowing Malfoy to lead her into the back room.

Smirking, Pettigrew left the bar, highly amused by the fact that he and Lucius had been thinking along similar lines.

Distantly, he wondered if the girl would live to see night's end.

**Courage&Cowardice **

He became everything they had ever wanted him to be.

Over the months that followed, Peter Pettigrew gained a reputation within the Order. He was quick to volunteer for dangerous assignments, including rescue missions, and helped out on as much intelligence as possible – in fact, the only information he was not privy to was whatever damnable topic Lily was researching, for the Old Fool would allow no one but Lily to look at the blood magic she was studying.

His friends commented on how brave he was getting – James said cheerfully that Peter _must_ have been one of those types who flourished in adversity, while Sirius laughed and proclaimed to everyone who would listen that he'd known Peter "had it in him all along, the little devil!"

The only exception was Remus. His old lupine friend had never really liked Peter as much as James and Sirius had. For years, Peter had wondered when Remus stopped trusting him... Had it been when they became Animagi? Was it his rat form? Peter didn't know, but he knew he would have to watch his step around Remus John Lupin.

He got closer to Lily, and as the weeks passed, he gradually became involved in her research. And as he grew closer to her, he came to hate James... Why should he have such a remarkable woman all to himself? Desperately, Pettigrew began to wish that the Dark Lord would order he seduce Lily Evans Potter, but after a short time, he admitted to himself that even if he were ordered to, he could not do so.

Lily would never forgive him, and he would lose his chance to retain a place on the side of the "Light". And of course, Lily, the silly little Mudblood, would go to James, who would in turn tell Remus and Sirius.

His usefulness to the Dark Lord would end, and with it, his life.

So he made no move toward Lily, and slowly, he became her friend. When James and Sirius were out on dangerous assignments, he would go to her house and sit with her, reassuring her, holding her as he cried. He would play with little Harry daily – though, for some reason, he could never surpass Remus and Sirius as his favorite uncle. He became her confidante, her trusted friend...

... Everything but her lover.

And with the growth of Lily's trust in him came the growth of the Order's trust. Soon, he was researching magical rites for Dumbledore, charged with figuring out which rites the Dark Lord had performed, and was likely to perform in the future. He was given books on Blood Magics – valuable tomes from Dumbledore's private collection, which only Lily had ever seen aside from the Old Fool himself.

There, he found his answer.

He had planted a book back in seventh year, when he had first begun to realize that he would have to act against both sides one day... but never really quite accepted it. Runes, protection spells, which had been lost for ages... which even Voldemort didn't know.

People thought Peter was stupid. They didn't know how absolutely brilliant he was at Runes.

And he found his answer.

A time-freezing spell, blood rites and protection runes.

It would all be up to Evans – he couldn't call her Lily anymore, not when she might die, and he couldn't bear to call her Potter – he knew that. Peter Pettigrew would not save Harry Potter. No, it would be down to Lily Evans _Potter_ to do that.

If Harry were to be saved, it would only be by mere chance.

If Harry were to be saved, then the universe would truly want him to survive.

And if the universe wanted it, then Peter couldn't change it anyway.

Pulling the book toward him, he began to memorize the incantations needed, and made a note to begin the search for the enchanted knife immediately.

**Courage&Cowardice **

They played right into his hands.

After years of silence, Lupin couldn't hold his distrust in any longer. He exploded at an Order meeting, accusing Peter of lying to all of them, of betraying all of them, of trying to seduce Evans. Potter and Black had been outraged, and Evans shocked. When Snape, Dumbledore's pet Death Eater, had been unable to confirm Peter's status – the Dark Lord, in all his wisdom, had let only Lucius and Bella know of his position – Lupin was ostracized. Angrily, Dumbledore rose to his feet and proclaimed his trust in Peter, and demanded that Lupin either take back his words or leave.

Lupin had left a broken man.

For weeks afterward, Black and Potter were in a fury, disgusted that Lupin, for whom they had done so much, had said such horrible things about their friend. Their rage grew and twisted, until finally, Sirius was convinced that Lupin "must have gone over to Voldemort... we have to admit, James, he _is_ a dark creature..."

They became protective of Peter. They defended him to everyone, stood up for him, spent more time with him. It was perfect, and Peter basked in it.

Lily Evans Potter never spoke anymore. She would not go near him. She would not look at him.

And he knew that Lupin had convinced her. He knew that she believed he had been trying to seduce her, even if she believed nothing else Lupin had said.

But he knew, just as well, that she would never tell Potter.

She would never risk the same fate that poor Loony Lupin had met.

He found the knife, and hid it in a secret panel within his apartment.

The pieces began to fall into place.

**Courage&Cowardice **

He watched Voldemort stride into the house with calm, calculating eyes. Moments later, the shouts broke out, and he heard Potter screaming for Evans to run, and take the Potter brat with her.

He knew his time had come. Casting a disillusionment spell on himself, he made his way silently into the house, stealthily as a rat, and slipped quietly up the stairs.

And there was Lily Evans Potter, staring at to the abomination that was James Potter's son.

For a Mudblood, she had had a great deal of potential.

She could have been so much more.

"What am I doing?" Evans whispered. "How can I do this to him?"

And Peter wondered, silently, how he could do what _he_ was doing.

But moments later, when Potter's whore was frozen in place, he did what he had to do.

Peter Pettigrew, he thought with a self-satisfied smile, did the _brave_ thing.

Not a Gryffindor, indeed.

He stole away, little Harry staring after him in confusion and fear, and left the house the same way he had come in. Silently. Unnoticed.

He left his old friends to their fates.

He hoped, for his own sake, that little Harry Potter would remember what he had done for him. He'd done the boy a favor, and whether Harry would be around to collect... well... that was up to Evans.

Smiling at his fortune, he ran across the yard, and he did not look back.

When Voldemort shouted a shielding spell from inside the house, Peter's smile died.

And he knew. He knew that Voldemort had fallen.

He had betrayed both sides. Sirius would be after him in a heartbeat, and Bella – so much more loyal than Lucius – would be right behind her cousin. He had lost each of them loved ones.

He had cost each of them years of effort.

_Well_, he thought, _maybe it wasn't such a brilliant plan after all. _


End file.
